


this room and everything in it

by thekardemomme



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 05:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekardemomme/pseuds/thekardemomme
Summary: Even’s loved Isak for about as long as they’ve been together. It hasn’t been that long, but it’s everything, and Even needs to say it.





	this room and everything in it

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off of the poem This Room and Everything in It by Li-Young Lee. this started as a scene in a bigger fic but I lost inspiration and decided I liked this scene so much that I wanted to post it anyway, so this is a standalone. 
> 
> massive thanks to gael (@isaksredscarf on tumblr) for reading this over when it was still part of a bigger fic, and to ash (@sweetniallofmine on tumblr) for helping me turn it into a one shot. thanks to the both of them for always supporting me. and to the entire fwn for always encouraging me, my writing, and my tentative endeavors into smut. hopefully I do it, and them (the most talented writers I know), some justice. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Meeting Isak’s mum was always something Even was terrified of. He liked to pretend he wasn’t, but he was; because this is the woman that had brought Isak to life, and had taught him how to love, and the woman that Isak had learnt to love the right way. And Even helped that, he helped Isak learn, and he knew how big that was to Marianne. How much she loved Even for it. And maybe that’s why he’s so nervous. Because he doesn’t want to let her down.

Isak had, of course, reassured him that it wouldn’t happen. But Isak, newly 17 and newly out and newly into Even, would of course have the view that everyone would be as infatuated in Even as him. But Even knew the truth. He knew. He and Isak hadn’t been together long enough to get out of the honeymoon stage, not yet. And Isak always insisted that they were in so deep, had shared the deep secrets on the first night they met—over too many tequila shots after a particularly bad night for the both of them—so the honeymoon phase never could’ve started. They knew each other, inside and out.

Nevertheless, Even was nervous walking into the house. He could barely eat what was on his plate, only encouraged by Isak’s gentle hand on his knee all night, firm and steady and grounding. Even glances up at him, the I love you balancing precariously on his lips, but his nerves stop him from saying it. It’s probably not cool to admit love in the middle of meeting the family. Not this soon.

His hands shook as he helped wash the dishes afterwards. When Marianne disappeared to get the photo albums, something Isak had vehemently tried to get her not to do, Even had practically slumped against the counter.

“Baby,” Isak laughs, reaching forward to put his hands on Even’s hips. “Stop stressing so badly. She loves you, can’t you tell?”

“No,” Even insists.

Isak giggles. “God, I can’t believe I used to think you had chill. Back when I used to stare at you across the courtyard at school.”

Even grins, wrapping his arms around Isak’s neck. “Before or after you dumped your emotional problems on me at Eskild’s party?” He teases, and Isak blushes, smacking his chest and then pulling him in for a kiss.

They kiss for so long that Even can feel the bruises blooming on his lower back from where Isak has him pressed against the counter, can feel other _lower_ parts taking interest, but he doesn’t care. If there’s one thing Isak’s good at, it’s finding distractions. Be it with drawing contests that Even always wins, or film nights, or midnight ice cream runs. Or with kisses, which just so happen to work the best. What can Even say, he’s a nineteen year old boy.

When Marianne comes back, Even’s still quite attached to Isak. Literally and metaphorically. Isak pulls back and blushes, wiping his mouth and then taking Even’s hand and leading him to the table. Even sits in the middle of Marianne and Isak, and his fingers don’t shake when he points to photos, and his voice doesn’t tremble when he laughs.

After a particularly embarrassing photo of a young Isak playing in the raw eggs he’d smashed on the kitchen floor, dummy in his mouth and eyes wide and innocent, Isak had shut the photo album and practically dragged Even out the front door (after saying goodbye, of course). Even hadn’t stopped giggling the entire tram ride back to his place, but didn’t say a word. Not yet.

They stumble up to Even’s, laughing so hard that Even struggles to get the key in the lock. When they finally get inside and silence descends around them, the tension around them thickens from lighthearted to something else entirely. Even thinks of how he could just say it, right now. Just tell Isak he’s in love.

“Shut up,” Isak whines, when they stop outside of Even’s bedroom door. But he’s giggling too, these breathless little hiccups, and Even think he fell in love with Isak in between breaths like that. Somewhere along the way, after an inhale and just before an exhale, in a laugh or a gasp or just normal breathing, Even fell for this boy. Three weeks of dating him and Even knows it’s too soon, but he also knows he’s so far gone that the only air he’s breathing is Isak’s, in a space he isn’t quite sure he’s welcome in or not.

Even shakes his head, pressing his back against the wall. He tries to catch his breath while tracing the barely visible lines of Isak’s body in the dark. “I haven’t even said anything,” he laughs, and he feels a hand hit his chest, which make him laugh harder. Isak whines and hits his chest more, and Even catches Isak’s wrists, doesn’t let him strike again.

“Let go,” Isak sniffs.

“No.”

“Let me go, right now.”

“Nope.”

“Even. Let me go right the fuck now. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

A pause. “I don’t know. But let me go.”

“I love you,” Even blurts, surprising even himself. He’d meant to say _make me_ , but something else happened, and now Even can’t breathe. It’s quiet and still for a long stretch of seconds, the air between them palpable, and Even loses his confidence like the air out of a balloon. He blushes and begins to loosen his grip on Isak’s wrist, an apology on the tip of his tongue.

But he doesn’t get to apologize, because his mouth becomes pretty preoccupied. Isak’s lips are a little bit chapped now, and a little uncoordinated from the intensity of the kiss, but they’re Isak’s, and that’s what makes his kisses infinite times better than any other kisses that Even’s ever had. It’s not Isak’s lips or the way he kisses, it’s just Isak. And that’s more romantic than any poetry he could wax about it, he thinks. And that’s saying a lot, when Even was hearing symphonies in his head.

Isak pulls back, and Even can practically hear the gears whirring in the younger boy’s mind, knows him so well by now to know when he’s about to overthink. About what, Even’s not sure. The sexual connotations, because they’ve never had sex before; or the fact that Even is hard; or the fact that Isak is. Even decides not to let him do that, and instead curls his fingers around the nape of Isak’s neck and connects their lips again, pressing Isak’s back against the wall and lifting his wrists above his head.

Somehow, they manage to make their way into Even’s bedroom. Both of them have their shirts off in record time—the faster they strip, the longer they have to kiss—and Even gets Isak on the bed within seconds. It feels too rushed to be their first time together, but Even is too far gone to stop. And Isak is just as frantic; so Even just keeps kissing, placing a thigh between Isak’s legs and letting Isak grind.

The sounds Isak makes from just the grinding are enough to make Even’s head spin. They’re whimpers and soft sounds, the type of sex sounds that make Even want to cuddle him up and give him hot chocolate and then fuck him in front of the fire. Something about the thought makes Even groan, and he chooses to believe it’s the thought of sex and not the thought of domesticity, though deep down he knows it’s probably both.

Isak sits up, makes quick work of unbuttoning Even’s jeans. Even does the difficult task of peeling them off and tossing them over the edge of the bed, and then reaching to pop Isak’s jean button. “Wait,” Isak pants, and Even’s hands freeze instantly. “I– You should know, Even, I’m–I’m a virgin.” That makes Even sit back on his heels, breath heaving as he runs a hand through his hair. How could Isak not have mentioned this? “Hey, virgin doesn’t mean celibate, you know. I want to do this.”

“Isak, your virginity is a big deal. Are you sure this is what you want? And please think about it, don’t make a decision based off of lust. It’s important to me that you feel perfectly comfortable, and if there’s even a small doubt in your mind, we won’t do this. We don’t have to do this, I’m okay with that, I swear.”

Isak huffs. “Well, I’m not. Look, a part of this is the in the moment lust, and I get that and admit it. But the other really, really big part of it is how I’ve always been wanting to lose my virginity to someone who’ll know how to do it properly. Someone who cares about me, someone I can trust. I trust you, Even. I trust you and I care about you and I really, really fucking want this right now. Okay? I know I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry, I am, but... Please, Ev.”

“You’re positive?”

“One hundred percent,” Isak nods. He reaches down, pops the button on his own jeans. “They are really tight, so I’ll need some help getting them off,” he entices, voice low and sultry, and Even immediately falls back over him, arms bracketing his head. “I love you,” Isak breathes against Even’s mouth, and Even practically moans. “Can’t believe you had to meet my mum just for me to finally say it. I’ve been trying for so long.”

If Even thought he couldn’t breathe before, he definitely can’t now. Isak has that effect on him.

[ _Lie still now_](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43328/this-room-and-everything-in-it)  
_while I prepare for my future,_  
_certain hard days ahead,_  
_when I’ll need what I know so clearly this_  
_moment._

 _I am making sure_  
_of the one thing I learned_  
_of all the things my father tried to teach me:_  
_the art of memory._

Isak’s admission makes the moment different. It makes it less about the heavy hands on knees under the kitchen table, less about the teasing in the hall, less about the charged make out session as they fell into bed together. It becomes more about pressing kisses to every inch of pale skin that’s revealed, flower seeds in a meadow; more about gentle fingertips like ink on a parchment; more about every single dip and curve and beauty mark on Isak’s skin. It isn’t so much about wanting to be gentle, but more so, wanting to fulfill every need within Isak’s mind, from sexual to existential. After all, it’s Isak’s mind that Even has been entranced by all this time. The body was just a bonus.

The way Isak arched his back when Even swallowed him down was artwork. The way he panted out Even’s name, a puff of air in a cold room, visible and swirling like smoke in the air between them. Isak buries his fingertips in Even’s hair, pushing and pulling like the tide, stomach heaving like a pulsating current. Even’s never been one to get seasick.

 _I am letting this room_  
_and everything in it_  
_stand for my ideas about love_  
_and its difficulties._

 _I’ll let your love-cries,_  
_those spacious notes_  
_of a moment ago,_  
_stand for distance._

 _Your scent,_  
_that scent_  
_of a spice and a wound,_  
_I’ll let stand for mystery._

When they’re naked, they’re calm. Even eases Isak open with gentle fingers, coated in lubricant, swallows up every soft moan with a passionate kiss. He dips his tongue in the tide pools of Isak’s body, tastes the salt there, and wonders if this is the same saltwater that hosts life; the same saltwater that creates life and destroys it day after day, wave after wave.

“Ready?” He breathes, and the word hangs heavy in the air, as Even positions himself between Isak’s thighs. There’s crescent moons in his skin and bruises on his neck, and more on Isak, and it’s getting him more and more worked up with every slow breath Isak takes as he nods out his consent. “Verbally, please,” He requests. He needs to hear Isak say it, needs Isak to be here with him and not somewhere miles away.

“Yes.”

One word is all it takes. Even goes slow, cups Isak’s cheeks and whispers how good he’s doing. He kisses away every expression of discomfort, wipes away every tear, stops every now and again to make sure Isak is okay. Isak is always okay. More than.

 _Your sunken belly_  
_is the daily cup_  
_of milk I drank_  
_as a boy before morning prayer._  
_The sun on the face_  
_of the wall_  
_is God, the face_  
_I can’t see, my soul,_

 _and so on, each thing_  
_standing for a separate idea,_  
_and those ideas forming the_ _constellation_  
_of my greater idea._  
_And one day, when I need_  
_to tell myself something intelligent_  
_about love,_

 _I’ll close my eyes_  
_and recall this room and everything in it:_  
_My body is estrangement_.  
_This desire, perfection._  
_Your closed eyes my extinction._

Their bodies move in sync. It’s pale chest against pale chest, fingers interlaced like vines on a trellis, thighs locked tight around Even’s hips. The thrusts of Even’s hips are to make Isak _feel_ ; not to make Isak come, not really. He wants Isak to feel the drag of skin on skin, the happy electricity of pressure on his spot, the ecstasy of a hand on him that isn’t his own. And Isak reacts so well to it, moaning so loud that Even has to remind him to be quiet, whispering Even’s name and calling Even’s name and fucking praying Even’s name.

Stamina isn’t really a concern. Even can’t really say he’s ashamed of it, not when he’s spent nights with a hand between his legs and his mind in Isak’s room. Besides, Isak isn’t much better off, all loud whimpers and soft _ah, ah, ah_ noises with every rock of Even’s hips, every small sound of hips meeting hips. They fit like puzzle pieces, like one made for the other. He knows Isak’s a Gemini, and he knows the Gemini are twins, but he wonders if maybe they’re not. He wonders if maybe they're two lovers, holding hands in the sky, forbidden on land. He knows he’s Aquarius. He wonders if he and Isak were carved from the Gemini and put on this world to love each other, through everything and all things, and maybe the blue of his eyes and the green in Isak’s meant something more.

There’s a whole world going on outside.

Someone somewhere maybe just got served divorce papers. Someone somewhere maybe just lost their mother to cancer. Someone somewhere maybe just got married to the love of their life. Someone somewhere maybe just got hit by their partner, and not for the first time. Someone somewhere maybe just fell in love. There’s people pumping gas, people riding rollercoasters, people writing novels, people sitting in front of laptops and wondering if they’re better off dead or alive. There’s women getting off of work and men picking up their children from school, a girl just came out to her best friend and a boy just took a risk and answered out loud in class.

But here, in Even’s room, it’s just them. It’s just _IsakandEven_ , words as close together as they are, inside one another in all ways. Isak fills every pore of Even’s body, every crevice except for the obvious one.

There’s more to this than the physical. Every nerve ending of Even’s body is screaming in pleasure, but it isn’t about that. This is about Even looking down at Isak and asking him if this feels good, this is about Isak looking up at Even and not being able to get words out, this is about Even cupping Isak’s cheeks and grounding him and tethering him and helping him come back to his body when he’d left it for a short while. It’s about the way Isak looks at Even, the eyes he makes, clouded with lust and something else that Even can’t place. It’s about the curve of Isak’s hips and how Even’s hands fit there perfectly, which is physical, but also so much deeper because it’s like every line of Isak’s body was carved by the heavens specifically for Even to fit there.

Even brackets Isak’s head with his arms, his thrusts becoming a little harder, more insistent as Isak begs. They’re panting into each other's mouths more than they are kissing, but it’s okay, it’s fine, because Even can’t help the way his thrusts get sloppy as he inches closer and closer, like he’s on the rising action to the climax of a good story. “Close?” Even pants out, encircling Isak with his fingers and pulling, taking the sweet sound Isak makes as his answer.

 _Now I’ve forgotten my_  
_idea. The book_  
_on the windowsill, riffled by wind..._  
_the even-numbered pages are_  
_the past, the odd-_  
_numbered pages, the future._  
_The sun is_  
_God... your body is milk..._

There’s something about the way Isak arches his back when he’s close that Even wants to take a photograph of. The smooth column of Isak’s neck, the Arc de Triomphe of his spine, the grip on Even’s shoulders where his knuckles look like white marble. He’s louder, less inhibited, can’t decide whether he wants to rock forward against Even’s hand or backwards against Even’s dick, can’t make up his mind on which sensation feels the best or which will get his climax to come a whole lot quicker.

No pun intended.

“Together,” Isak breathes, hot against Even’s neck. Even nods weakly. “We’ve gotta do this together, Even please.”

“Whatever you need, baby. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

 _useless, useless..._  
_your cries are song, my body’s not me..._  
_no good...my idea_  
_has evaporated...your hair is time, your thighs_  
_are song..._

Their orgasms are their crescendo. It goes from erratic thrusts to limp bodies slumped together, fingers tracing trails on sweat-slick skin, hearts jackrabbiting together as one, breaths mingling in the limited space between them. Even pulls out, tosses away the condom, cleans Isak up, pulls the duvet up to his chest and cuddles Isak gently.

He runs his fingers through Isak’s hair until Isak purrs like a cat, presses kiss to his lips until he complains about his breath, cuddles until they’re too hot and have to kick the duvet off just so they don’t have to separate.

“You better not let go,” Isak jokes meekly, pillowed on Even’s chest.

Isak falls asleep first. Even doesn’t let go.

 _it had something to do_  
_with death...it had something  
to do with love._

**Author's Note:**

> feedback, as always, is appreciated. 
> 
> find me on tumblr under my NEW url: femmevilde
> 
> (used to be thekardemomme)


End file.
